Revolving lantern, back to zero

Lin Shen parked the car by the river and turned off the engine. He didn't go to the Origin World, didn't go to find the second gardener, and didn't go to see the father who had waited for him for thirty years. He sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his forehead resting on the top edge of it. The car was quiet, with only the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat. His heart was pounding, like someone was drumming in his chest.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour. Sunlight streamed in through the windshield, changing from gold to orange, from orange to red, from red to gray. Night fell.

The phone lit up. It was a message from Su Wan: "Lu Ming said he'll wait for you until dawn. If you don't come, he'll come find you."

Lin Shen didn't reply. He turned his phone over, screen down, and placed it on the passenger seat. Then he opened the car door and got out. A cool, fishy river breeze blew by. He walked to the railing and looked down at the river. The water was black, reflecting the city lights like a shattered mirror, torn apart by countless points of light.

He took seven mirrors out of his pocket, stacked them together, and held them up to the river. The mirrors reflected the city lights, casting patches of light on the water. The patches of light slowly converged, forming a circle. At the center of the circle was a door—not the blue Gate of Creation, but a black one, like a crack, like a wound.

The origin world. That black tree. The father who waited for him for thirty years.

Lin Shen, holding the mirror, walked through the door.

When he landed, the ground beneath his feet was gray. Hard, cold, like stepping on a dried-up riverbed. He looked up and saw the tree. It wasn't the withered, cracked tree he'd seen when he first entered the Origin World, nor the golden tree covered in white blossoms that Chen Yuan had seen after their fusion. This was a living, growing tree, but oppressed by something. The trunk was dark brown, the branches were dark green, and the leaves were emerald green. But black vines entwined the trunk, covered in black thorns, the tips of which dripped a dark red liquid—like blood, like resin, like tears.

A person was sitting under the tree.

He wore dark gray clothes, the same color as the first gardener's suit, but a different style—old, faded, with patches at the elbows. His hair was gray, not entirely white, but a mix of black and white, like withered grass in winter. His face was thin, with prominent cheekbones and deep-set eyes, exactly the same as the face Lin Shen had seen in the mirror. Not just "like," but "exactly the same." Lin Shen looked at that face as if he were looking at himself thirty years later.

The man looked up at Lin Shen. His eyes were brown and normal, but deep in his pupils was a tiny, almost invisible pattern—a tree, exactly like the black vines that entwined its trunk.

"You've come." His voice was low and hoarse, as if he hadn't had water in a long time. "I've been waiting for you for thirty years."

Lin Shen walked up to him, stopping about three meters away. "Are you my father?"

"I am." The person didn't stand up, but looked up at Lin Shen. "When your mother was pregnant with you, I left. It wasn't because I didn't want you, but because I couldn't stay. I have the seed of the 'Gardener' inside me, and it's contagious. If I were with your mother, the seed would pass to her, and then to you. I left to protect you."

Lin Shen's hands were trembling, but his voice was steady. "You didn't protect me. I was sent to an orphanage. I've never known who my parents are. Every time I fill out a form, the 'father' section is always blank."

The man looked down at his hands. His hands were covered in scars, old and new, healed and festering. His fingers were bent and deformed, as if they had been broken off and then grown back crookedly.

"I know," he said. "I know you're not doing well. I've been watching you. I opened countless doors in the Origin World, each one leading to your world, each window facing your life. I saw you learn to walk, learn to talk, learn to write. I saw you on your first day of school, being mocked by your classmates for not having a father. I saw you fight, being knocked to the ground, getting up, being knocked down again, getting up again. I saw you get into police academy, graduate, become a policeman, fire your first gun, kill your first person. I saw it all."

Lin Shen's eyes reddened, but no tears fell. "You saw it, but you were never there."

"I cannot appear." The person raised his head, looking into Lin Shen's eyes. "Every time I appear, the seed will spread. Every time I get close to you, another 'Gardener' seed will grow in your body. The seven stars in your body are not planted by me, they grew on your own. Because you are my son, you inherited my constitution. You can withstand the power of the seed because my blood is in your veins."

Lin Shen pressed his hand to his chest. The scar throbbed, not in a panicked way, but rhythmically, steadily, like two hearts beating side by side.

"You've sent me to kill you."

"Yes." The person did not hesitate. "I have lived for sixty years and been a 'gardener' for thirty years. I planted seven seeds, harvested seven ability users, and created seven parallel worlds. I owe this world a life. I owe you a life."

Lin Shen crouched down, looking the person in the eye. They were so close that he could see the tree in the person's pupils, the vines on the tree, the thorns on the vines, and the blood on the tips of the thorns.

"I don't want to kill you," Lin Shen said.

The man smiled. It was a weary, bitter smile, like a lamp about to go out. "You don't want to kill me because you don't want to bear the guilt of patricide. Not because you don't hate me."

Lin Shen remained silent for a long time. The gray sky was low, like a ceiling about to collapse. The trees in the distance rustled in the wind, like someone was crying.

"I don't hate you," Lin Shen finally spoke. "I used to hate you when I was little. I hated you for not wanting me, for leaving me alone in the orphanage, for making it impossible for me to write your name on forms. But I stopped hating you later. Because I grew up, and I know that some things can't be solved by hatred."

The man's eyes reddened. He didn't shed tears, but a light flickered in his eyes.

"You're like your mother," he said. "She was like that too. No hatred. No resentment. Just acceptance."

Lin Shen took out the new mirror from his pocket—the one that had become after the first gardener died, with a black seed reflected in its surface. He placed the mirror on the ground in front of the man.

"This is the first gardener's ability. I killed the first one and got the seed. Lu Ming said that as long as I kill seven gardeners and plant seven seeds under this tree, all the abilities will disappear. The revolving lantern will turn off, the parallel worlds will merge, and all the ability users will become ordinary people."

The person looked down at the seeds in the mirror and remained silent for a long time.

"Lu Ming is right," he said, "but there's still one step missing. After the seven seeds are planted, someone needs to water them. Not with water, but with blood. The owner of the seeds must water them with their own blood for the seeds to sprout, and only after sprouting will they release their power, and only after releasing their power will it dissipate."

Lin Shen looked at that person. "Use your blood."

"I use my blood." The man nodded. "I am the son of the first gardener, and his power is in my blood. My blood can nourish all the seeds."

He picked up the mirror from the ground and held it in his hand. The edge of the mirror cut his palm, and blood seeped out, dripping onto the gray earth. Where the blood fell, a small, bright green sprout grew.

"Look," the man said, "the seed has sprouted."

Lin Shen looked at the little sprout, then at the person's face. That face, exactly like his own, thirty years later. He suddenly remembered something—he had never called this person "Dad."

"What's your name?" Lin Shen asked.

The person paused for a moment, then smiled. It wasn't a weary smile, nor a bitter one, but a warm, sincere smile, like sunshine.

"My name is Lin Yuanshan," he said. "Your mother gave me that name. She said she hoped you would be like a distant mountain, watching over us from afar."

Lin Shen looked at Lin Yuanshan's face. The wrinkles, scars, and white hair on that face were all traces of thirty years of guarding. He had never appeared, but he had always been there. Behind every door, opposite every window, deep within every mirror.

"Dad," Lin Shen called out.

The sound was very soft, as soft as the wind. But Lin Yuanshan heard it. His tears finally flowed, silently, welling up in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks, and dripping onto the gray earth. Where each tear fell, a small sprout grew. The sprouts formed a line, stretching from Lin Yuanshan's feet all the way to the black tree.

Lin Yuanshan stood up. His legs were trembling, but he stood straight. He turned to face the tree. The black vines wrapped around the trunk began to loosen, like snakes startled, sliding off the trunk. The vines fell to the ground, twisted a few times, and then withered, turning into black powder.

A door appeared on the tree trunk. It wasn't blue, it wasn't black, it was white, like ice, like light, like amniotic fluid in a mother's womb.

Lin Yuanshan walked through that door.

Lin Shen followed behind him.

Behind the door was a room. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. Exactly the same white room he had seen in his own consciousness. But in the center of the room, there was no chair, no table, no mirror. Only a tree. Very small, very short, like a potted plant. The trunk was brown, the leaves were green, and the roots were embedded in a white flowerpot. Two words were engraved on the flowerpot: Lin Yuanshan.

Lin Yuanshan walked to the tree, squatted down, and touched the trunk with his fingers. The trunk was warm, like the temperature of skin.

"This is me," Lin Yuanshan said. "I am this tree. This tree is me. Thirty years ago, the first gardener separated my consciousness from my body and planted it in this flowerpot. The body I walk in outside is fake, a shadow. Only this tree is real."

Lin Shen squatted down and looked at the small tree. The leaves were trembling slightly, as if they were breathing.

How can I get you out?

"You can't save me," Lin Yuanshan shook his head. "Only I can save myself. I need to pull the tree out of the flowerpot. But I will die when I pull it out. Because my consciousness has become fused with the roots. Pulling it out will sever the roots."

Lin Shen placed his hand on the flowerpot. The flowerpot was cool, but the soil was warm. "Then I won't pull it out."

"You must pull them out." Lin Yuanshan looked into his eyes. "Because only when I die will the seven seeds stop growing. Only when I die will all the stars within you go out. Only when I die can you become an ordinary person."

Lin Shen's tears finally flowed. They weren't silent; they were audible—very soft, suppressed, like a sob rising from a deep place.

"I just found you," Lin Shen said. "And you're leaving already?"

Lin Yuanshan reached out and wiped away Lin Shen's tears with his fingers. His fingers were cold, but his fingertips were warm.

"You have never lost me," Lin Yuanshan said, "because I have never left you. I am in every mirror of yours, in every star of yours, in every heartbeat of yours."

He grasped the trunk of the sapling.

Hard.

The moment the tree trunk was uprooted, the white room began to collapse. Not shatter, but melt—like ice turning to water in the sunlight. The walls became water, the floor became water, the ceiling became water. The water flowed to the ground, forming a river. The river flowed into the distance, and in the distance, there was a ray of light.

Lin Yuanshan's body began to become transparent, spreading upwards from his feet, just like all the mirror keepers he had seen in the mirror. But he didn't disappear; he simply transformed from the form of a shadow back into the form of a tree. The sapling grew from his palm, growing larger and taller. The trunk thickened, the branches lengthened, and the leaves became denser. The roots extended from the flowerpot, plunging into the white floor, which cracked, revealing golden light shining through the fissures.

The tree grew into a large tree. It was the same size as the black tree in the original world, but different—its trunk was golden, its leaves were golden, and its flowers were golden. Golden flowers bloomed among the leaves, and in the heart of each flower was a seed. A small, black seed, like a sesame seed.

Seven seeds.

Lin Shen stood under the tree, looking up at the seeds. The seven stars in his eyes flashed simultaneously, then dimmed. Not because they went out, but because they had found their home.

He reached out and caught the first falling seed. The seed pulsed in his palm, like a heart, like a seed, like a life awakening. He gripped it tightly and squeezed it hard.

The seed broke.

The fragments slipped through his fingers, fell to the ground, and sprouted a new shoot. The shoot was emerald green, exactly like the one he had seen where Lin Yuanshan's blood had fallen.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven seeds, seven sprouts. The sprouts lined up in a circle, surrounding the golden tree. From the treetop, the last golden petal drifted down and landed in Lin Shen's palm.

The petal became a name: Lin Yuanshan.

Lin Shen put the petals into his pocket, turned around, and walked out of the white door. He traversed the gray earth of the Origin World, passed through the black door, and walked through the dappled sunlight on the river, returning to his car.

Dawn was approaching. The eastern horizon began to lighten, just as it had when the original world collapsed. He sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his forehead resting against its upper edge. The car was quiet, except for the sounds of his own breathing and heartbeat. His heartbeat was slow and steady, like a drum.

My phone lit up. It was a message from Su Wan: "Lu Ming said the second gardener died. Are you alright?"

Lin Shen typed two words: "It's okay." and sent.

He placed his phone on the passenger seat and started the engine. The car drove onto the road, the streetlights went out one by one, and the sky gradually brightened. He drove, not home, not to the hospital, not anywhere. He simply drove aimlessly through the city streets. Sunlight streamed in through the windshield, onto his hands, onto the steering wheel, onto the seven mirrors stacked on top of each other on the passenger seat.

His face was reflected in the mirror. Tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but the seven stars in his eyes had disappeared. His pupils had returned to their normal brown, like amber, like earth, like autumn leaves.

He touched the scar on his chest. The scar was still, no longer throbbing. The "self" inside him hadn't spoken for a long time. It hadn't disappeared; it had fallen asleep. Waiting for the next moment when it needed to wake up.